


assuage the memories

by aleanmeanaquamarine



Category: Ranger's Apprentice - John Flanagan
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Flashbacks, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2020-07-09
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:34:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25156306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aleanmeanaquamarine/pseuds/aleanmeanaquamarine
Summary: assuage;to lessen the intensity of (something that pains or distresses)
Relationships: Gilan & Halt O'Carrick, Gilan & Will Treaty, Halt O'Carrick & Will Treaty
Comments: 26
Kudos: 91





	assuage the memories

**Author's Note:**

> . very sorry about how late this is!!! <333 takethisroad have a fluffy fic

Gilan was rounding a corner of the Gathering’s tents when Will crashed into him, sopping wet and chest heaving. Gilan frowned. Something was wrong; Will’s breathing was way too fast to be normal. He reached out to grasp Will by the forearm.

“Are you alright?” Gilan studied Will’s face, panicked and desperate. A bad feeling settled into his stomach at the way Will clung to him. 

“Gilan?” Will’s voice was quiet, confused, and Gilan could feel Will shivering against him. In hindsight, that should’ve been his first red flag, but instead he just tried to tug Will into his tent.

And then all hell broke loose.

Will threw a punch half-blind, catching Gilan across the jaw. Gilan’s training kicked in just in time for him to dodge a second blow.

“What the hell?” He caught Will’s fist, moving quickly to avoid a clumsy kick. “Will, stop!” Will’s breathing came faster and faster, eyes frantic as he lashed out with his other arm. Gilan ducked under it, sweeping the other Ranger’s feet from under him and pinning him to the ground.

“Please don’t—stop—” Will thrashed in his hold, tears leaking from the corners of his tightly closed eyes. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please don’t—” 

_Skandia._ The realization hit Gilan like a load of bricks, knocked the air right out of him. “Will,” he whispered, horrified.

Will was shaking underneath him, but it wasn’t cold, not even remotely. Gilan felt his heart twist at the sound of his begging.

“Will, it’s Gilan. Today is the second day of Fourthmonth. You’re at the Gathering in Araluen. Take a deep breath. You’re safe.” Gilan tried to make his voice soothing, level, but he was sure that Will could hear the panic bubbling underneath the surface. 

The tension went out of him as Will stopped struggling, his breathing slowing. “ _Gilan_ ,” he said, relief coloring his tone. 

“Glad to have you back.” The words were teasing, but even he could hear the edge of worry on them. He let go of Will, offering a hand to help him to his feet.

Will took it, and Gilan pulled him up. “I thought I was…” Will frowned. “Back there. In Skandia.”

A burning guilt built in Gilan’s stomach—he’d left Will in Celtica, after all, might as well have sold Will into slavery himself. Gilan tucked away the feeling for later. There were more important things to deal with at the moment, namely, the couple Rangers around the campsite that had been watching—stealthily, of course, they were nothing if not stealthy, but watching nonetheless. “Why don’t you come into my tent for a change of clothes?” He asked quietly.

Will looked up at him, running a hand through his wet, tangled hair. “That would be great.”

~~

Gilan tossed a spare set of clothing at Will, turning around to light a candle in the tent. There was shuffling behind him.

“So,” he said casually, “what triggered that?” The shuffling stopped. He put down the flint he had been using, flame burning quietly. “You don’t have to tell me, of course. But I’d like to know, so I can avoid it happening again.” He turned around slowly, giving Will the time to protest the action. 

He was standing there in clothes that hung off his body—gods, he was small, drowning in fabric. His entire body was tense, poised to run.

“I care about you,” Gilan added in a softer tone. “It hurts me when things like that happen.”

Will looked at the ground. “It was stupid. I should be able to handle a joke.”

Gilan frowned, walking over to sit on his cot. He patted the spot next to him, leaning back on his palms. Will sat down next to him.

“You know, for a while, I couldn’t stand to be around fire.”

Will frowned. “What? Why?”

 _At least he’s looking at me now,_ Gilan thought. “There was an... incident, during my first year of being a Ranger. A building lit on fire, and I was too late to stop it. People died because of my mistake.” The corner of his mouth turned up. “It was cold rations for some time, I remember.”

A pause. He looked over to find Will staring at his hands. “But surely you didn’t…” Will pursed his lips. “Lose it? Like I do?”

Gilan stared up at the ceiling of his tent, still smiling, just a little bit. “Oh, I lost it. Dozens and dozens of times, until I was sure everyone was sick of it—the nightmares used to wake people up, they were so loud.” He turned to look at Will. “But they understand. The Rangers, I mean. They get it.”

Will was silent for a long time. Gilan watched him quietly, studying his face to get any idea of what he might feel. “It was this prank the first years pulled,” he said finally. “They dumped some water on me as I was leaving the main tent—the one that Crowley’s staying in.” He frowned, eyebrows furrowing. “It must have been from the stream nearby, it was so cold. I just… it just reminded me of what it was like, at the slave camp.” His voice was quiet, barely more than a whisper. “And then I was just back there.”

Gilan reached an arm out, hovering over the back of Will’s shoulders in a quiet question. Will nodded, and Gilan wrapped him into a side hug. “I’ll talk to the first-years.”

Will shuffled just the slightest bit closer. His body was still cold from the water, and Gilan rubbed his arm, trying to get some warmth back into it. “You don’t have to.”

Gilan paused to squeeze him tightly. “I want to. And besides, how are they going to learn if nobody says anything?”

Will shrugged. “I guess you’re right.”

He smiled, unwrapping his arm to ruffle Will’s mostly-dry hair. “I’m _always_ right.” Will huffed at that, shaking his head, and Gilan stood up, walking over to where a little makeshift desk had been set up in the corner. “I did have to finish these reports, though.”

A small smile crossed Will’s face. “Weren’t those due a couple days ago?”

Gilan winked, grinning. “What Crowley doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

“You’re a terrible role model.”

“Me? A bad role model?” Gilan sat down behind his desk. “I can’t believe you would say such a thing.”

“ _I_ can’t believe I used to think you were cool.”

“ _Used_ to—?”

They were both grinning then, laughter filling the warm, cozy tent. The smile faded from Will’s face after a second.

“Gilan?” He asked.

“Mm?”

“Could I stay here?” Will looked up to meet Gilan’s questioning eyes and rushed to clarify. “Just for a little while—I mean—it’s nice in here, anyways, you all leave the worst tents to the apprentices, mine has a _hole_ in the side of it, seriously—”

Gilan cut him off gently. “Will.” Will looked at him, hands falling back into his lap from where they’d been gesturing in the air. “You don’t need a reason to be here. My door is always open.”

"There aren't any doors on a tent."

“Metaphorically!”

Will shook his head, letting out a huff of laughter. “Thanks.”

“Anytime,” Gilan said easily, turning back to his paperwork.

The hours passed slowly, light fading as Gilan finished the last of the reports. They hadn’t actually been late—Crowley just found any excuse to dump his papers on the rest of the Rangers, and the fact that Gilan was a candidate for Commandment was a good enough reason. He barely registered it as WIll retrieved his weapons from his soaked clothes, cleaning and sharpening them. He left a few times, once to dry his clothes, another to get something from his tent, but never for long.

It was nighttime before either of them knew it, the candlelight dimming. There was a yawn from Will’s direction, and Gilan looked up to find Will half-asleep on his cot. “You should get some rest.” 

Will frowned, the drowsiness softening his expression. “I don’t want to be alone.” The words were slightly slurred, and Gilan put down his quill, walking over to adjust the blankets around Will. 

“You won’t be,” Gilan promised.

And then Will was out like a light, already snoring softly in the silence of the tent. 

Gilan walked back to his desk, tried to focus on paperwork, but his attention was drawn back to Will’s face, peaceful and quiet. 

The ink dried on his quill as he stared, a lump in his throat. 

How had he let it come to this?

He’d been sent on that mission as a protector—had been trusted to keep Will and Horace and Cassandra and safe, and well, he’d done a fine job of that, hadn't he?

How had he managed to lose his mentor’s son—his little brother—and the Crown Princess into _slavery_ , of all things?

Some Ranger he was.

There was a pressure in his chest, tightening it and making it hard to breathe. He looked away from Will, blinking harshly to rid himself of the tears that had formed in his eyes.

There was the slightest shuffling from near the tent’s entrance—the kind the average person would brush off, if they didn’t know what they were looking for.

Gilan, however, _did_ know what he was looking for, and so he recognized the sound of his mentor’s footsteps against the ground.

“Halt,” he said quietly. He didn’t meet Halt’s eyes, just kept staring at the tent walls, pen seeming to be stuck in his hand.

Halt approached him with near-silent steps, gently taking the quill out of his hand and laying it back on the desk.

“It’s late,” Halt said quietly. “You should go to bed.”

GIlan avoided his eyes. “I still have work to finish.”

There was a pause. “It wasn’t your fault, you know.” Halt was looking at him—Gilan could tell, could almost feel the eyes on him. 

“I don’t know what you mean.” The lie tasted bitter in his mouth, sat heavy on his tongue.

“Will’s slavery.” Gilan flinched—somehow, hearing the words out loud made them hurt more. He swallowed thickly.

“I shouldn’t have left him in Gallica.” His voice was low.

“You had to get the information about the bridge back to Araluen. You were faster, at the time.”

Gilan shook his head forcefully.

“I should’ve found a way.” 

“ _Gilan_.” The word was a plea and a reprimand all in one.

He sighed, staring at a corner of the desk. “I know, I know. It’s unreasonable of me to think like that, I just—can’t help but wonder if I could have done something, anything. Could have gone in his place.” A hand reached down to squeeze his shoulder, and he looked up to meet Halt’s eyes.

“I know, son. But I’m sure he doesn’t blame you.”

Gilan smiled slightly. “Thanks, Halt.” 

“Anytime.” Halt removed his hand, pinching the flame of the candle out. “Now, I do believe it’s past your bedtime.” The words were teasing, light.

Gilan scoffed. “You can’t just send me to bed! I’m a fully-grown member of the Corps, you know,” he complained, stepping out from behind the desk and making his way over to the cot. 

“Didn’t seem like it when you decided to sew a bright red ‘fuck’ to the back of my cloak.”

“That was a long time ago. I’m a changed man.”

“That was _yesterday._ ” 

Gilan stepped out of his boots, sliding under the covers next to Will.

“Goodnight, Halt.”

“Goodnight, Gilan.”

He started to doze off quickly, but even in his half-asleep state, he still felt the lips against his forehead and the rush of cool air as Halt let the tent flap close behind him.


End file.
